Chip thought a moment. “Why not? Maybe they know Rolland’s connection to Carla. Anything, so shit like that doesn’t happen here again. I’ll introduce you. Tell them you’re okay.”

“Thanks,” Marge said.

“Anything for you, honey,” Chip said. “I like big women.” He smiled at her. Marge smiled back, then rolled her eyes when he wasn’t looking.

Decker said, “So you don’t know of any other connection Rolland had with the Darcys other than his relationship with Carla?”

Chip smiled. “Relationship? You call being fucked belly down on a Harley a relationship?” He laughed. “Sheeeet, you don’t know Carla. She don’t have no relationships. Sure as shit don’t know what Rolland was doin’ at her house. Maybe he was putting the make on Linda. He’s tried it before. Maybe he got lucky.”

“Maybe Carla didn’t like him getting lucky,” Decker said out loud.

Chip thought a moment. “Not a bad point, Mr. Cop. Carla didn’t like the attention that Linda got.”

“Rivalry between the two?” Marge asked.

Chip asked, “You mean like did they fight?”

“Yes,” Marge answered.

“Not in public,” Chip said. “But Carla would get a mean look on her face when guys paid too much attention to Linda. Maybe she didn’t like her sister-in-law stepping out on her brother, though she never said nothing to me about it.”

“So you don’t know if Linda was getting it on with Rolland?” Marge asked.

“Nope,” Chip answered. “Ask Rolland’s old lady. Woman used to watch Rolland like a hawk. That’s why he stopped taking her here. I bet she’d know.”

“Betty or Betsy something,” Marge said. “A waitress in Saugus.”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” Chip eyed the picture once again. “Man-oh-man, I sure don’t want to sign off like this. He was found with Linda, Carla, and Luke?”

Decker said yes.

“Linda, Carla, and Luke look like this, too?” Chip said. “Like niggers?”

Decker nodded.

Chip said, “Sheeeet.”

After jawing with a few inarticulate bikers, discovering nothing of significance, Decker gave Marge the “Let’s beat it” look. They walked out to the parking lot, Decker offering to drive this time. As he slid into the driver’s seat, he noticed Pig leaning against a chopper, glaring at the unmarked. The son of a bitch looked mean as hell, but his corpulent body language didn’t suggest confrontation. Decker shook his head. To think that this blob had once been a baby bouncing in his crib. What do we do to ourselves? He gunned the motor and peeled off.

“What now?” Marge asked.

“Byron Howard,” Decker said.

“Mister Chatterbox?” Marge said. “Guess we should know where he was when all this went down.”